Growing Up
by FireFairy219
Summary: At the age of 30, Tai is a diplomat for the Digital World and Sora is a renown fashion designer. Each have gone their own way in life, but what happens when they meet again after all those years?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I do not own Digimon.

* * *

><p><strong>GROWING UP<strong>

_~ chapter I_

* * *

><p>Growing up is never easy. And yet, it is the most natural thing a human being encounters.<p>

* * *

><p>"Surely we can figure something out, gentlemen? Look, if we can come to an agreement on this, both the Digital World <em>and<em> the Real World will greatly benefit." The long table of diplomats continued their arguing, ignoring the attempted intervention of the chairman completely. "Right... Okay everyone, listen up! We'll take a small break here and let everything sink in a little. We will resume this discussion in a good fifteen minutes then, how does that sound?" The annoyed politicians stood up from their seats grumpily and left the ambassador alone in the room, wrongly assuming that the question was rhetorical.

When the noise of talk had simmered down – which actually didn't take long – and the only sound that could bug anyone was the zooming of the air-conditioning, the man who led this meeting pinched the bridge of his nose exasperatedly and plopped down on a nearby chair in defeat.

"I feel a headache coming on, Agumon. Why can't they see that this is probably the solution that'll put an end to all the political talks we've had for the past 6 months?"

"They don't see things the way we do, Taichi. They're too absorbed in their own bubble and refuse to open up to things they're not familiar with. It's what people do. I can imagine it would be the same if the situation was that digimon had to decide on the fate of both worlds. But don't worry, sooner or later, they'll come around", the orange kid-sized digimon tried to placate.

"I hope you're right… And I also hope that that time comes soon, because I'm not sure I'll be able to think of something else to try and convince them after this meeting. It's on its way to going down the drain as usual... You know what, I think I need some coffee." He abruptly stood up from the swivel chair with an energised air at the thought of caffeine. "Want to help me find some?"

"No, that's okay. I promised Gatomon I'd bring her those special sardines – you know, the ones from that secretary lady on the fifth? – by four o'clock, so I'd better get them now before she threatens to starve me again."

"All right, see you at home then, buddy." And with that, they parted.

"Coffee coffee cof-_fee_. Must have yummy cof-_fee_. Coffee coffee… Oof!" Whilst softly singing to himself on his way to the coffee machine, he had failed to notice the bespectacled woman on his path. She was carrying what seemed like rolled-up carpets of fabric and was mostly unable to see where she was heading as well. And as an obvious result of both their inattention, they had walked right into each other, causing her to fall and for the fabric rolls to unravel. Taichi himself was only surprised that there was an obstacle in his way over to the coffee supplies.

"I'm so sorry, Miss, I didn't see you there. You okay?" the ever-gallant Taichi Kamiya asked the woman who was sitting on the floor in a rather dishevelled state.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay." She put her hand on her head in order to stop the spinning and tried to stand up. "Oof." And failed.

"I got you." The chivalry with which the suited man tried to save his gentleman status and hers as damsel in distress confused her. Then again, the last time she had been in the presence of a gentleman was during the first years of her now-failed marriage. She had forgotten how it foolishly yet delightfully made her glow inside.

_'A redhead. Of course. And a clumsy one by the look of things, too. Cute.'_

"Thanks for helping me up, public embarrassment is the last thing I need in my life right now." She scrambled to pick up her fabric rolls agitatedly.

"Sure. No problem, Miss..."

"Ishida. Sora Ishida. And that's Mrs", she tried to say as neutral and unsuspicious as possible, still facing the floor to grab her things.

"Sora…"

_*flashback*_

"SOOOOOOOORRAAAAAAA!" a whiny child's voice resounded all over the park's playground. Children on swings and seesaws alike looked up from their games and worried or curious parents were disturbed in their conversations or newspaper reads upon hearing that loud banshee-like sound.

The dramatic scene they were all searching for was transpiring in the shelter of the playground's dinosaur, a hiding place which also distorted the little boy's voice to a weird echo.

A girl of about the same age was sitting in front of the pouting boy (he had an unusual amount of poofy hair) with her small arms crossed over one another, her back as straight as she could manage. She was staring inquisitively at him, as if she was twice his age and about to reprimand him for disturbing civil peace. One might argue that children at the age of seven cannot express inquisitive looks, but the boy as a recipient of that convincing glare would surely beg to differ.

"Come on, Sora! One hour in the sandbox with that ugly fat kid and we get a box full of my – err, _your _– favourite candies! You know, like the caramels and the cherries and all that other stuff I – I mean _you _and me, I mean _we_ – like. Play one hour with him and we get all that yummy candy for free! What's wrong with that?"

She was still staring at this whining sugar addict with a motherly frown etched in her features and made no notion of agreeing with him anytime soon.

"If you want your candy so bad, why don't _you_ go play with the fatty? Huh, Taichi?"

The boy named Taichi cringed. "I'm not Taichi, I'm _Tai_. My Mom is the only one who calls me that! You know I hate that, _Sooooooraaaa_."

"Stop whining my name, Tai! It's not working!"

Tai was looking quite pleased with himself, though. "Now, what do I have to do to make you play with him?"

Sora replaced her annoying/motherly look with a devious smirk. "Oh I'll tell you what you have to do."

7-year-old Tai gulped in reluctant anticipation.

_*end flashback*_

30-year-old Taichi gulped in stupefying recognition.

* * *

><p>Why does it feel so difficult then? Why do we blame others for doing it?<p>

* * *

><p><em>*flashback*<em>

"NO! I don't care what you have to say, Tai! I'm not going to drop everything just so you could waltz into my life again!"

The woman in front of him was most definitely a force to be reckoned with. She had gone from a harmless 16-year-old to a hurricane of anger in a matter of seconds just upon seeing him. It had to be a record. Her red hair in combination with her flushed cheeks and fiery eyes presented him with a scary image indeed, and her shrill voice made him flinch visibly. In short, she was the personification of a raging fire.

"But Sora, I can explain-"

"FUCK IT, TAICHI! I am not one of your willing victims you can override with your charm! I _won't_ be! And I certainly have no interest in the details of your intricate sex life!" she shouted even louder.

The mere fact that she used his old name, for which only she had the permission as an inevitable consequence of a bet once upon a time, indicated just how serious she was. He faintly wondered if he would have to dress up as a girl again as well...

"Look, I know I made some mistakes-" he started.

"SOME? Are you even listening to yourself? How can you dismiss everything that's happened as '_some_ mistakes'? You know what, never mind. I don't even want to go there. But I'll tell you this, Taichi. If you ever – I mean, _ever_ – come back to me to talk about your pathetic excuses, I will personally make sure you will not be able to walk out that door and-"

Urgent lips and steady hands captured her in mid-rant and, for a second, the world was giving out under her. And in that wonderful instant, her heart stammered against her chest in accordance with the rumbling earthquake she was feeling in her entire body. It was an earthquake emanating from him to her. Only her. All that mattered was the two of them, and the delicious hard kiss that always swept her off her feet-

Slap.

Tai's head swivelled to its right and his handsome cheek began to redden and swell. Sora stared at him with wide eyes, trembling from the aftershock of both his kiss and her slap."D-d-don't..." He had to strain to hear her.

When he chanced a glance at her still-red face, she looked as if the raging fire was nothing but a dissipated smoke cloud anymore. Broken. Shudders ran over her spine and her eyes were filling up with uncontrollable tears. Acting on instinct, he reached out his arm in an attempt to comfort her, but she quickly took a step backwards as if it held a grave infection. He frowned when she almost stumbled to get away from him.

She honoured him with one last doe-eyed stare and then left abruptly, breaking into a run to her car and hurrying off with screeching tyres.

Tai was left alone in the parking lot, nursing his aching jar in defeated contemplation.

_*end flashback*_

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><p>And why can't we see we are just as much to blame?<p>

* * *

><p>His eyes fell on the simple golden ring sporting her delicate finger, and he vaguely registered her more adult, concerned voice.<p>

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

She had gathered her things already and a large part of her vision was concealed because of the towering rolls in her arms.

"What? Oh. Y-yeah, I'm okay." He was still in a daze from the assault of memories and the vision of that piece of metal around her finger, and couldn't express anything more than an automatic response.

"All right then. Look, I really have to get going. I have a meeting in two minutes and since it's my first day, I really don't want to be late. Thank you again for your help, though." And with that, she hurried off, much in the same fashion as she had 14 years ago, the only difference being her high heels and cylinder skirt that in his mind's eye were once sneakers and worn jeans.

A ring.

Ishida.

He steadied himself against the wall as the impact of those words hit him. _'No freaking way...'_

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><p><strong>AN:** Right. So. I have no idea what happened here, but I will try to make a story out of this :p Bear with me until then, and if you want, let me know your suggestions in a review/PM! (don't you just hate how a story never goes the way you plan it? I seriously wanted to make a oneshot without the heartbreaking flashback scene... Ugh. But in hindsight, I must admit I kind of like it :p)

-x-


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I do not own Digimon.

* * *

><p><strong>GROWING UP<strong>

_~ chapter II_

* * *

><p>People inherently hold on to what they used to be and know in spite of the changes they've gone through.<p>

And change alters people, no matter how you look at it.

For better _or _for worse.

* * *

><p><em>'Okay, that went well', <em>Sora thought to herself while packing her things to leave.

_'At least I survived every question they threw at me successfully. And hey, no clumsy accidents today!' _She'd made it to the elevator already and took one last look at the now-empty corridor that would soon become an everyday sight.

Happy to have finished her very first day at her new job, she walked out of the building to the parking lot and gratefully started for home, only one thought blemishing her glee. _'I can never get used to these effing heels, though.'_

Heels. One of the first things Sora changed about herself all those years ago when she decided she no longer wanted to be the tomboy everyone regarded her as, only second to skirts. Strangely enough, though, she had begun to get used to that latter and, over the years, had become so accustomed to skirts that she actually liked wearing them now.

Heels, she was determined to always despise, no matter how good they looked on her. She was never one for all that 'beauty is pain' crap, anyway.

She'd started wearing them around the time when the horror period of puberty kicked in. Because, sure, boys noticed her, but they only did so because she was good at sports and could easily pass for a boy herself the way her athletic abilities were practically better than the majority of the male population.

And for the longest of time, she was perfectly fine with that reality. After all, they had done so all her life and she thought it silly for girls and boys to talk differently to each other just because they belonged to opposite genders.

But when she arrived at the age of 14 and watched her classmates interact with each other, she started to feel an odd quenching of her stomach (jealousy, she found out later), incensed by the girls of her year who flirted with boys and could make them blush just because of something they'd said. Sullenly, she wondered why she couldn't do that. She wanted... more than her tomboy reputation. She wanted to be a girl.

And just like that, she changed.

It was as if one moment, she was perfectly happy going to school the way she was – soccer ball in hand, having spent only 10 minutes in the bathroom – and the next, she would fuss over what people thought of her and how she looked – dropping soccer for the more female-approved sport of tennis and asking her friends' opinion on the latest gossip. It had been abrupt yet barely noticed adjustments. Natural, she supposed.

That was a long time ago, of course, but she still couldn't get used to that feeling of walking on sticks, and every now and then, she still feared she would fall over. In her opinion, nothing could beat good old – _flat_ – sneakers. And even though she had no obligation to go out of the house that night, she put them on out of habit and sighed at the relief. But of course, showing up to work in such shoe-wear was unthinkable.

So there she was, home at last, sitting in her living room; her caramel-brown killer shoes strewn across the carpet and her nearly unwearable yet immensely comfortable sneakers on her feet. As it should be.

She ran a hand through her unruly hair in exhaustion and called the pizza delivery restaurant, too lazy to start cooking.

Absentmindedly, her train of thoughts led her to the gentleman she'd encountered in her somewhat clumsy moment of the day. Well, she wouldn't exactly name it clumsy as much as a trifling ungraceful moment instigated by the opposite party, which is most definitely not the same, mind you. But yes, her brain began to unravel her eventful day in the relaxed atmosphere of her living room and it chose to start with that unfortunate incident that held absolutely no meaning.

For some reason, she'd been avoiding that particular line of thought meticulously all day. Well, for no reason she could come up with actually, but she was sure there was one. Intuition in such matters never failed her, so who was she to question it. Yet in the comfort of her sofa and delicious wafts of pizza that teased her taste buds, her mind wandered off on its own anway, to that rush of giddy feelings she'd gotten that afternoon.

Oh yes, giddy.

She had no idea if it had been triggered because of the chivalry that man had handled her with or because of that lean body of his that had pressed ever so gently against hers. It was probably a combination of the two; both her primal instincts and personal weakness to gentlemen had been kindled in her and had resulted in her momentary near-swooning state.

She couldn't even remember a face, though. Nor a name. Just the obligatory business suit and strong hands. And the smooth masculine voice that almost made her shiver, of course. She could recall that last one quite vividly...

All in all, though, this was but a vague thought that passed through her mind in a weak moment where her subconscious would contemplate the events of her feared first day. It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Yet unbeknownst to her, a ghost of a smile graced her lips while she watched a random romantic comedy on TV with unseeing eyes, but a fraction of that giddiness returning to her. A fraction, even though she hadn't even consciously considered the situation. If she'd known about this display of happiness, she would've probably wondered at her strong reaction, no doubt. But as it was, she basked in the feeling as it came to her, satisfied at having survived the day.

_*flashback*_

"Wow, Sora! You look... different."

Sora nervously laughed at her best friend's account of her change in wardrobe. She ran her hand over the pleats in the mini-skirt to flatten out fictional flaws, pulled at her V-shaped T-shirt that showed off more skin she had ever allowed herself to show, and lifted her head to watch his facial expression. He looked positively struck. It was as if someone who had been going out with boys all her life had suddenly declared to his face that they were one hundred percent lesbian.

She immediately felt insulted by the reaction and frowned at it.

He looked at her some more then, no sound protruding his mouth.

To his credit, it was slightly hanging open in anticipation of speech, but... nothing.

Sora herself recovered rather quickly and sent him angry eye daggers that were sure to sting some part of his still body, crossing her arms over one another to add to the effect. That was sure to bring him out of this state of stupefaction; he could never ignore her when she was so clearly mad at him.

Still nothing.

"Tai!"

"Uhh... Yeah?"

"Is that really all you're going to say to me?"

He seemed to weigh around her words in his head and after another minute answered: "Well, it _is_ different."

Smack.

"Hey!"

"How about: hey Sora, you look nice?"

"Yes, you look uhm... very nice."

Smack.

"Ouch! What was that for?" he asked her, rubbing his sore head and frowning at this smacking girl in front of him.

"Stupid Tai", she muttered under her breath while turning on her heel (managing not to fall). Leaving her supposedly best friend behind in a very confused state, she strutted down the school hallway with clenched fists and a pouting lip. Really, sometimes he could be so thick!

"Oooh Sora! What happened? You look stunning!" a girl to her right almost squealed in delight, effectively cutting off her inner rant.

It was Mimi. Queen bee of Odaiba High's freshman students, one of the most influential people in the entire school and one of her closest friends. And hey, she also happened to be a girl.

Sora smiled.

_*end flashback*_

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><p>When we look back, we find the best years of our lives.<p>

And in the face of tomorrow, we are frightened of what the future may hold, unable to do anything but _wonder_ whether there are better days to come.

* * *

><p>The auburn-haired woman finished her Merlot and left the last slice of cold mozzarella pizza in its box before closing it. It was eleven o'clock already and the cheesy movie had just ended, leaving her with nothing to do but go to bed. Reluctant to leave her warm seat, she got up from her cosy couch and cleaned up her dinner.<p>

The film hadn't been that much in itself, she admitted to herself, but she couldn't help but love the happy ending, even though she knew beforehand that the lovers would end up with each other. Honestly, sometimes these things could be so predictable. But a healthy dose of feel-goodness had never harmed anyone before, and she wasn't one to complain.

She suppressed a yawn and moved her dishes to the kitchen with sluggish feet. And that's when _it_ happened: the most dreaded moment of the week.

She gulped.

"Hello?"

"Sora hey. Look, sorry for calling you so late, but is it okay if I pop by in about twenty minutes with the papers?" he asked, not sounding sorry at all.

"Sure, no problem."

"Right. See you."

Click.

Sigh.

There it was then: the end. Or the beginning, depending on your view on the world.

"Half full or half empty?" she asked herself, not wanting to indulge her answer to herself out loud.

She sighed some more and put the phone down screen first, punishing it for that betraying last phone call that had caught her completely off guard.

_'Really, why now?'_ she asked herself and nonexistent deities for their fateful timing.

The moment she heard his voice reverberate against her eardrums, her good mood immediately plummeted to a depressing state of realisation. Because it just wasn't fair. _Life_ wasn't fair. Then again, when had it ever been?

How she hated the prospect of change.

_*flashback*_

Sora looked around suspiciously when they entered the restaurant. It wasn't like anything she'd ever been to, she quickly decided, and that was counting Mimi's birthday parties with her family where she was always dragged off to on demand of the birthday girl herself.

"Ah bonjour, Monsieur, Madame. Avez-vous une réservation pour ce soir?" a solemn butler asked.

"Bonsoir. Et oui, j'ai réservé au nom de Yamato Ishida. Table pour deux, s'il vous plaît ?" her partner beside her politely explained in French.

_French_. It only added to her suspicion.

He gently put his hand on the small of her back when everything seemed to be in order and guided her to their appointed table by the window. He held out her chair first and patiently waited until she was comfortably seated before sitting down himself rather nervously.

"So. What do you think?"

Sora blinked. "What's going on, Matt?"

Matt was suddenly very interested in his menu chart and avoided her piercing eyes swiftly. "Nothing. Have you decided on what you want to eat yet?"

"No. I'm not familiar with the French terms, but this place looks really nice. Expensive, too. Care to elaborate why we went here again?"

Yes, Sora could be quite cunning when she needed to be.

Matt didn't give in, though, not until dessert was brought in by the waiter. And when both had been served, he stopped the man from going back to work and whispered something in his ear. Now, if that wasn't suspicious, she didn't know what was.

And then her blond boyfriend of many years beamed her a smile that lit up his entire complexion and baffled her to no end. Why the hell would he do that? She knew how rarely he displayed such happy behaviour, especially in public.

Unless... No, impossible.

But when he got up from his seat, approached the live band to borrow a guitar, and threw her another genuine smile (it was seriously starting to freak her out), she stared on in disbelief and anxiety, plunging her nails into the table cloth in an attempt to get a grip on reality again. Would people notice it when she ran off like a madman? Because she really, really wanted to get out of there all of a sudden. It was as if someone had cut off her oxygen supply and was hovering a sword over her head – Damocles', probably. She felt caged. Unable to escape. And nauseous. And when he took the microphone in his hand and everyone turned their attention on her to hear her say that one word of joy, she just stopped breathing altogether.

Yes, she so sorely hated change. Especially when there were so many witnesses present to behold it.

_*end flashback*_

She took the wine bottle in her hand again and poured herself a needed glass of alcohol, only to gulp down half of its content in one swig.

"Half full or half empty, indeed."

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><p><strong>AN**: Thoughts on the Sora chapter, anyone? Oh and I wanted to include the cliché sentence "French is the language of love" *coughcough* as well, but I think the proposal scene was sufficiently clichéd. Even I think so :p Anyway, it's French because he has roots in France (TK has, so according to my awesome powers of deduction, Matt has as well) and also because I wanted to make Sora a kind of cliché-loving girl (at least in certain situations). Hence the romantic comedy with the happy ending. But that was also because I had to help my sister write a small free speech on her favourite movie, and that happened to be a romantic comedy. Anyway, I've started studying for my June exams, so don't expect another update in 2 weeks. I might have something by then, but I wouldn't count on it. Suggestions are always a great help though (as are reviews, hint hint), so leave a comment!

-x-


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I do not own Digimon.

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><p><strong>GROWING UP<strong>

_~ chapter III_

* * *

><p>Growing up is such a confusing process.<p>

We don't notice when we are in the act of becoming more mature, but we do sense a foreboding, of sorts.

_Be careful_, it softly whispers, _you are venturing on thin ice, and any moment now, it just might break._

* * *

><p>He was in his nightwear, he noticed, as it was somewhat on the cool side and the cold yet gentle breeze that wove through the air turned his bare torso into a goosebumped surface upon contact. After all, he only did wear boxers at night; he didn't see the point in wearing pyjamas if he was comfortably warm under the covers of his bed without said nightclothes already. Then again, his bedroom had never been so chilly either, almost as if the ceiling had flown off and he was sleeping under a naked sky. He was standing up, though, and there was no sight of a bed.<p>

So where exactly was he?

When his gaze dropped down to his body, he saw that he was also wearing shoes. Old, worn soccer shoes from the days he fervently played the game, which was most definitely a long time ago as far as he could remember. He felt surprised at the strange attire and wondered why that was.

When he looked up again, he took note of his surroundings more critically, which, unfortunately, proved once more that he was nowhere near his room. He saw nothing but shadows, in fact; the atmosphere was not dark enough to shroud him in total obscurity, but not light enough to make him feel comfortable either. It was twilight, but without the soothing painting of a setting or rising sun.

The dark chuckled.

He couldn't distinguish whether there were actual people with him here in this apparent void or if his over-imaginative brain conjured up these low, menacing sounds. Because, to him, these cackles were uttered the only way the mystical can emit them to mock one's inferiority. Mind you, he'd always prided himself in being a brave man and had faced many of his fears sometime in life, but there was just something about those cackling noises that reminded him too much of a time when everything seemed too far lost to be victorious – of a time all hope was gone.

But whether they were or weren't, he snickers were eerie either way.

He started to walk around then, figuring he might as well try and find a way out of this place he couldn't even remember coming to, regardless of the shivers running down his spine. He opted to go left from where he was facing minutes ago, deciding that every which way looked exactly the same and standing frozen in one spot would be of no help in this predicament.

He'd always been a man of pure impulse.

As he was strolling through the dark, though, he got a strange sense of déjà vu. Had he been here before?

He tried to search his memories for that familiarity and he felt sure that he'd encountered such darkness before, but every time the substantial truth was within grasp, it escaped him.

His walking turned to jogging, as if the memory slips were related to his actual speed, and soon enough, the jog became a sprint.

Was that a hint of light before him?

His lungs protested vehemently when his pace increased even further, but this time, it seemed as if the light was not moving away from him. He hoped with all his might that it would indeed not flee him like his muddled memories, because he had this incredible urge to have to know – he had to see, had to _remember_.

He came at a stop at a white, lighted hallway that was lined with numerous doors, which seemed to go on till eternity, and a high ceiling that rivalled a king's castle's. After the initial awe, the view sort of made him think of Bruce Almighty and Morgan Freeman, though when he looked up, there was no God above… and no ladders in sight either.

So he wasn't dead, he concluded. Good. What was he then?

He was glad about his still being alive, of course, but the space nonetheless provided him with that peculiar feeling; a feeling that something could go wrong any minute now and a feeling that he'd been in this particular situation before as well. It made him uncomfortable.

All the doors looked exactly the same to him: white and impersonal. The only thing that distinguished them from one another were the adornments of signs that were neatly nailed onto the wood. Each poster read something else, but he didn't pay attention to their words, as the fact that there were doors at all was far more interesting to him.

Impatient – desperate – to find out the purpose of it all, he rashly opened the eighth one and stepped inside. Forward was the only way to go for him, so forward he would go.

Yet in his haste to do just that, he conveniently missed the sign that said: "find your way back".

_*flash*_

12-year-old Tai was walking through a dimly lit corridor with his digital counterpart and best friend, Agumon. Dimly lit, because they were just able to see a metre in front of them so as to not fall flat on their face whilst everything else tacitly belonged to the grand unknown that was slowly suffocating them in numbers.

It actually wasn't a normal corridor either, rather a passage in the Digital World; the walls were made out of carved-out rock, that in some places jutted out in sharp formations, and that absently reminded him of his history class on cavemen that he had actually paid attention to. He had been fascinated by how they used mere walls to draw pictures of their hunting travels on – it was primitive... uninhibited... bordering on disturbing was left unsaid.

Agumon and he were following that seemingly never-ending path in silence. Because for some reason, it felt as if an interruption of the ancient atmosphere would result in some sort of chaos unknown to them and, though both courageous and adventurous at heart, that looming force wasn't something they were willing to find out about. So they walked on at their slow yet steady pace without uttering a word to one another – almost numbly.

Almost two hours into the walk, the road to whatever presented them with a forked choice.

"Left or right, buddy?" Tai whispered softly. _'Lighter or darker?'_

Agumon looked at Tai and through some mind-reading device or other, they nodded to each other and simultaneously chose left, crossing fingers and claws for the lighter part of the cave.

Why were they in a cave anyway?

Tai's spiked soccer shoes crunched on the dirty floor and their noises pierced through the stillness of the tunnel. The further they went, the louder the crunches and the more impatient he became to find out why on earth they were even here, with him wearing his soccer-clothes of all things.

Suddenly, as though his unspoken thought had been heard by whomever could read his mind there in the darkness, the cave corridor widened and more light was seen in the distance.

About time, too.

They went on at the same, sluggish tempo despite the obvious changes – the ambience still didn't allow them relief of mind and put them on edge all the same – and came at a stop when the corridor ended at a floorless section from where the light was coming.

In the middle of that void, a girl was floating, surrounded by slivers of dark smoke, resembling a sort of suit that didn't leave an inch uncovered, and she was curled up in a scared, foetal position.

She looked sad beyond recognition, but instinctively, Tai knew it to be someone he cared for dearly. Every time he tried to get a good view of her features, though, his vision turned hazy.

It was outright _odd_.

He had no tangible idea about why that was – the not-seeing part – nor why he suddenly felt the urge to protect her from any harm, but since he was always one to trust his gut before his mind, he accepted it for what it was.

Honestly, it was simply too confusing to approach when they'd been aimlessly wandering for hours and the first thing they stumbled upon was a floating girl, a void and the presence of light. It was overwhelming.

Only one thing stood out in the jumble that was his mind: he felt he _needed_ to help her – _now_ – as if she were a vital piece of his life. That made him even more worried; he couldn't recall ever having felt so strongly about someone before. But he also felt like he was the only one who _could_ help her, as if he was made for this purpose and this purpose only and was brought here, at this moment, to save her. Destined.

Frowning and clenching his jaws – in anticipation as well as in order to forget about all the other chaotic, swirling thoughts that were giving him a sure headache – he tried to extend his hand without plummeting to whatever was down that pit, holding onto the sides of their fun corridor in support.

She was too far out of reach, though. Barely, yet too much.

Agumon soon took note of his partner's frantic, heroic behaviour and without question lent him a claw in vain; the distance still wasn't bridged sufficiently. It even appeared as if the smoke pulled her further away from them, unwilling to surrender its host.

...That wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it?

Meanwhile, the girl didn't even acknowledge their presence and stared on with vacant eyes.

Why was it she couldn't see him?

Why was it he couldn't see her?

Then, before he could ponder these questions, another light fell from the skies (which both Agumon and Tai hadn't even noticed because they had been walking around in that cave for what felt like ages, having only just gotten accustomed to the void's slight illumination), and it effectively halted all attempts at rescue. With it, a blond boy came floating to the girl much in the same way she was floating in that strange, empty space. Except that he was surrounded by a bubble of good magic (or so Tai perceived it) instead of dark smoke.

She looked up when he spoke mutely.

Tai and Agumon stared on in disbelief and perpetual quiet, unable to do anything but watch the scene enfold before their eyes. _'No no no! That's not what's supposed to happen!'_ Tai thought in despondency as his realisation that this was destiny went right out of the window.

Why did she see him but not Tai? Why couldn't he help her, but that other boy could do so easily? Why wasn't he good enough?

On impulse and desperate to prove himself and her wrong, he took a step or three back and made a short sprint to leap into the air, hoping to end up saving her one way or another – flukes were his specialty, after all. But instead of finally coming close enough to salvage her, her unrecognised face lit up as the smoke vanished... which was a good thing, no?

_No_, she only broke out of her stupor because she was being absorbed by the blond's bubble, _not_ due to some fluke pulled by Tai.

A sincere smile spread across her lips as she took in the angelic-looking boy's presence properly, still unaware of the bushy-haired boy who was staring intently and who was trying to fill in the now-useless hero part, weightlessly transfixed in the air.

It all happened in slow motion for him, so slow that he was sure every detail would be imprinted on his retina for quite some time. And yet, it was still too fast to process; it was just _so wrong_.

At the same time the large amount of hurt coursed through Tai's heart – why did it hurt so much? why did it hurt at all? – Agumon was yelling his name in alarm, but unfortunately, Tai was experiencing the effects of stupefaction and couldn't hear his concerned friend's cries. It wasn't until the familiar girl and already loathed boy drifted away from him in a typically happily-ever-after fashion that the sounds of his partner's voice could finally reach his malfunctioning ears.

But that was also when Tai felt himself move downwards, falling victim to the forces of gravity eager to suck him to the bottom of the floorless pit.

Indifferent, confused and compelled, he let them.

"TAAAAAAAAAIIIII!" Agumon's voice reverberated against the darkness, breaking their unspoken rule of keeping away whatever was in it.

A rapidly approaching white door came into view, the words "find your way back" flashing at him like neon lights this time.

He noticed them all right. It was just too bad that he couldn't care less – how could he, when he was dealt such a blow? – because he now knew who the mystery girl was, who he had always taken for granted to be there whenever he fell, felt sad, wanted to laugh, _always_. She'd taken a chunk from his heart with her when she turned her back and flew away, his dear, dear Sora.

And just like that, it was too late. For what, he didn't know, but it really was.

And the worst part of it all: he'd known it would be before it had even happened.

_*flash*_

* * *

><p>When that slippery surface does break, we simply drown and try to resurface. And most of the time, we succeed – though for some, it might take some time.<p>

But when we eventually do, we forget we were suffocated by the change in the first place and start the confusion anew.

For maturing is continuous and needs to happen more than once for the message to sink in – again, for some more than others.

And the only way to go about it: the truth.

* * *

><p><em>*flash*<em>

"Come on, Sora! Pass me the ball already!" he yelled at the 15-year-old girl who had currently been claiming their soccer ball for the past five minutes. _Five_ minutes. In soccer terms, that was simply unacceptable.

She turned her head to give him a cheeky smile. "If you want it, come and get it!"

Yeah. She was so asking for it.

He grinned mischievously and manoeuvred to impact with her left side (five minutes of abandon made for more aggressive approaches, after all). Though just when he thought he got her, she slowed down and he hit air and dewy grass instead. "Ow."

"Didn't you get the memo, Taichi? Pride comes before the fall." She smirked, victoriously looking down at him, and showed off her impeccable skills some more by juggling the ball and nonchalantly heading it into the goal. She scored, naturally.

"You know, Sor-" he positioned his feet behind her legs, "-I think you're due for a fall yourself," and pulled.

"Wha-? Oof."

"It's not as bad as you think down here," he winked at her beside him to find her smiling at him, though there was something remotely sad in her otherwise bright and affectionate complexion. Wise, perhaps?

"I know. I just thought you'd do well to remember it too once in a while."

He stared at her blankly, trying to shake off the feeling of déjà vu yet again.

Wait, again?

As he was drowning in those ruby pools, the scenery around them changed to a daylight soccer-field instead of that of a setting sun on a summer night. He was running now, his eyes stuck on that same shade of red as the stands went wild and the soundwall attacked his eardrums. "Tai! Pass it to me, I'm open!" the voice of Sora sounded urgently, her eyes conveying that same message.

But he didn't _want_ to pass the ball. _He_ wanted to be the one to score – for the team, for them to be proud of him. He knew he could do it, so why bother shooting the ball over to his companion?

Then, a member of the opposing team got him to topple over, and the ball he was so sure would be the winning goal before the end shot up into the air. That was it; they were doomed and they would lose. All because he had been overconfident about the victory.

The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts while he was lying there on the ground, wasting the final seconds of the game in denial and cursing himself.

A hand came into view and crimson eyes twinkled at him. "I thought you were going to take the shot yourself. Nice pass, Taichi!"

She pulled him to his feet and the vibrant red-brown he would never forget about – no, never – urged him to reply equally thrilled. "But I didn't," he told her in all seriousness, hoping she'd forgive him for being such a disappointment. He faintly considered telling her that it was his intent all along, but he didn't want her to be happy for something that was a lie. She didn't deserve that. "I wanted to win, and I didn't want you to score my goal. I'm so sorry, Sora." He hung his head in realisation. It was too late, wasn't it? What's done was done and he had proven himself to be an utter idiot. Again.

Again?

"You have found your way back, Taichi. I knew you could do it."

Wait a minute. "Found my way back? Where have I gone then?" he asked, baffled at the familiar-sounding word choice. To which a white door suddenly fell from the sun and dropped onto the grass with a loud thud a metre or two away from him.

Sora kept smiling in that mysterious way she seemed to have adopted recently and turned the knob for him. He looked between her and the half-open door, lingering a little longer on her, and stepped over the threshold. It was not too late.

_*flash*_

He gasped loudly and struggled with the silk sheets as if they were after-cobwebs that had followed him back to the world of the conscious, before he resurfaced from the tangles and could breathe again.

_'That... gasp... was one... gasp... freaky dream.'_ Gasp, gasp.

He ran a hand through his short, plain-looking locks and shivered when he felt the air tease his sweaty body. All the usual post-nightmare symptoms, he reckoned, but the sense of fear was blatantly lacking. In fact, he was just plain confused instead of terrified, which meant that it really was just a dream. Granted, an incredibly bewildering dream, but a dream nonetheless.

His brain was still a mumbo jumbo of nothings and everythings, but all that didn't matter. What mattered was the clumsy woman in the hallway and the mistakes he'd always regret. What mattered was _her_.

He jumped out of bed, went into the kitchen and pulled a chair out. _'Right. I have to get it right this time.'_ And then he promptly began to write.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I am terribly sorry for not writing for ages! If it's a consolation, I did try to write nearly every day starting my holidays, but it just wouldn't work. And I tried to make it longer as well. I guess I rewrote it about 3 times and I'm still not happy with how it turned out, but I'm sure you're sick of waiting as much as I am so I just uploaded it as it was. Writer's block sucks. As do exams. As does working, because it takes even more time away and makes me tired. AND INTERNET OUTAGES! DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THOSE! (sorry Ezio, I would've uploaded it when I said I would otherwise... Also, part of my text just vanished because I was typing it on FFN itself and that just had to be the part I had difficulties with so I had to rewrite that as well. Okay, and I admit I got lazy there, because I put so much effort in the first try. So sorry :s) Well, now that the unfairness of the world has yet again been apprehended, can I have a review? :) Preferably in which you tell me whether the chapter makes sense at all? :p

-x-


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I do not own Digimon.

(Note: Adventure 02 didn't happen here, only the first generation did)

* * *

><p><strong>GROWING UP<strong>

_~ chapter IV_

* * *

><p>She imagined herself on an island. A sunny place, surrounded by the bluest sea you've ever seen, coconut palm trees, pearl white sand and a large beach chair that accommodated herself and a variety of chocolate, that for no particular reason didn't melt away in the sun. You know, just your average, run-of-the-mill island.<p>

She also imagined a set of lackeys in the form of the Brazilian soccer team (she liked having a good view as much as any other woman), from which part were providing her shadow and a cooling system in the style of large, waving palm leaves (she should really stop watching those cliché movies; they played quite the role in corrupting her brain); part was making her the perfect cocktail, curly straw and mini parasol included (what other kind is there?); and another part was playing beach soccer in front of her, shirtless (the sun _can_ be ridiculously hot on islands after all). She quite enjoyed the sport herself, but she wouldn't complain about shirtless, muscled guys playing it for her. They were performing a show after all, for her eyes only, so it would just be rude to dismiss them.

She imagined herself with no one to whine her head off as well (some chirping birds were really the limit) and considered her daydream to be completely perfect. Taking a sip from her now-finished melon mojito at that, she concluded that life was good on her island.

Too good actually, because then she had to go and remember herself again – that she was just plain Sora Takenouchi, victim of everyday ruts and extraordinarily common instead of commonly extraordinary, let alone extraordinarily extraordinary. Ah, shame that.

The escape – short-lived as it may have been – was appreciated nonetheless.

_'The papers? Sure thing, Matt. Shall I lick your shoes while I'm at it, or would you prefer I didn't soil them with my inferiority?'_

Happy island! Happy island!

"Ouch!"

Sora blushed. "I'm so sorry, Madam. The needle must've slipped. Terribly sorry."

The aristocratic-looking woman was not pleased with the error that she supposed from the start would be nonexistent given the designer's reputation, and continued her busy phone call with an irritated sound that was a hybrid of a huff and a tsk. It seemed like an exceptional thing to pull off gracefully as well, which it probably was, but this was the CEO of the political party that promoted Digimon rights – someone who had millions at her disposal and who was superior to practically everyone.

But then, experience had taught her that penthouse people always were – superior that is. She supposed it was a nice, modernised analogy to the social ladder system.

One would wonder at how she even got the job, if her social building theory was anything to go on (she quietly placed herself in the mediocre-sized flat category). And one would be right to do just that, seeing as the only reason Sora was chosen to have the privilege of dressing the CEO was because she had been recommended by her long-time-no-see frenemy, Mimi effing Tachikawa. If you'll excuse her language.

She still doubted whether she should be grateful or suspicious of her mediating role in getting Sora the job of a lifetime. Though on this particular day, she tended to go with the latter – she considered her grumpiness completely justified because of the Matt affair, of course. But why, one might ask? Why indeed would BFFs, as Mimi liked to call it, suddenly be on such bad terms with each other?

It wasn't really something she cared to think about today, and she was satisfied with just being – no thinking, no overthinking and no superanalysis as she was prone to do from time to time. Just a clean slate with lots of smiles on it.

A knock on the door shook her from her pre-new year's resolutions.

"Enter."

A scrawny secretary poked her head around the door list and watched her boss be fitted by Sora.

* * *

><p>As we age, we look forward. To things that may come, things that will be, skyrocketing expectations and inevitable let-downs.<p>

* * *

><p>"Speak, girl." So spoke Mrs Boss.<p>

"I have a message for Miss Takenouchi, Madam."

"Well, make it quick. I'm not paying her to do nothing and I want this finished in the next half hour." At which she turned around regally and started another phone call, sounding equally as important as before.

Sora shot a quick glance in her boss' direction, dropped her needle and thread, and hurried into the hallway.

"What is it, Yolei?"

"Some guy gave this to me on his way in. He was late, he said, and told me to give you this ASAP. Said it was important."

_'Matt?'_

Yolei handed over a small note that was folded in half. It looked to Sora as if the note was torn from a larger sheet of paper and someone had scribbled on it. Which it probably was.

'Dear Sora, would you like to have coffee with me at 4PM today?  
>From, the clumsy guy from the hallway.'<p>

Well. Sora was not expecting that.

Still staring at the odd change of events – there was a blotch of ink on the S of her name that particularly fascinated her – she thanked the new secretary she'd known since college.

"Sure. I'll see you at lunch then?"

"Yeah. Lunch. I'll be there."

"You're blushing."

"I am not blushing!... I'll see you at 12."

_'What to do? What to do?'_ Unable to think of anything else, she turned around on automatic pilot and faced the horrors in her boss' office once more, in a haze of Matt and faceless Clumsy Guy and confusion galore.

* * *

><p>And the best part: you never know what you're going to get.<p>

* * *

><p><em>*flashback*<em>

"A cat?"

"A cat."

"You bought me a cat?"

"I bought you a cat."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Why a cat?"

"Because I thought you looked like someone who likes cats."

"Right."

"You don't like cats?"

Sora lifted her eyes to her husband's and saw the doubt splattered across his face in the flickering light of high, used candles. She hadn't bothered opening up new ones when she'd been prepping for tonight, seeing as the last ones hadn't been in use for more than four hours. And the two hours that other time too.

And as she worked on the three-way dinner that afternoon, she'd already lit them as well, so that they were down to ugly stubs now. The fact that he had decided to show up an hour and a half late was a contributing factor too, of course. _'I'm so sorry, honey. There were some major issues at work that couldn't be resolved, so I volunteered and it took us a good two hours to fix them. I'm not _that_ late, am I?'_

It was fine; she liked it when candles reached their end. It gave her the opportunity to actually light new ones next time. Start afresh.

"I don't have a problem with cats."

"So you like it? Her name is Kit."

"How original."

"The owner who sold her to me said she doesn't respond to anything else."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm positive it'll do you some good – the cat."

"Kit the cat. I like it. She's a great birthday present, Matt."

A smile broke through on Matt's face at Sora's approval. He'd been fretting about what to buy his wife of four years for days and in the end just decided on a cat, taking the advice of a guy at work who assured him all women loved pets – especially little kittens. It was some sort of universal given, Davis had said. _'They all turn into these mushy creatures just at the sight of a kitten or a puppy, man. Trust me. If there's one thing that'll make a woman happy, it's a pet.'_ And without any real ideas of his own, Matt had done just that and trusted Davis on the birthday present affair.

Sora didn't seem particularly thrilled as Davis had described she would be, but she wasn't looking at him in distaste either, which meant he'd done something right this time.

The good china sat in the sink, waiting to be done at the earliest convenience. "I'm rather tired today. Would you mind doing the dishes for me? I'm going to bed."

"Uh-sure. Do you need anything else?" He watched her suspiciously, wondering in silence why she wouldn't want her chocolate chipped ice cream for dessert, nor their usual round of lovemaking – he'd put on his special cologne and everything.

"No. Just my Kitty Cat here." She took up the little creature in her arms with care, hugging it to herself, and made to get up. "It's all I need right now."

"Okay. Goodnight then, dear."

They gave each other a routine peck on the lips and parted ways.

Matt desolately lingered by the table.

"Don't forget to blow out the candles."

_*end flashback*_

* * *

><p>But even if it's not something you hoped for, you make the best of it.<p>

Because it's all you can do; because it's the only way to move forward at all.

* * *

><p><em>*flashback*<em>

"I brought Kit with me."

"Thanks."

"I thought that maybe you should have her, because… Well, she's yours, really." He stared at her from the same table they'd sat at so many times. Its environment was completely different now, cramped in her flat so that the chairs were leaning against the walls when people actually sat down, but still there. In her life.

"Yeah. I'm glad you thought of it."

"So… I guess I'll be going then. I'll make sure the papers get to court first thing in the morning, so don't worry about that."

"Right."

"Oh and I wanted to thank you still. For agreeing not to bring an attorney in this. I honestly hope we can still be friends after all is said and done."

"Me too, Matt. Me too." She opened the door for him in anticipation. "I'll see you in court, then."

"Of course." He gave Kit one last caress and left the flat with a "goodnight, Sora."

The door closed on a finalising click and an inexplicable sigh heaved by Sora. As much as she wanted to admit that this visit had been a good thing, she couldn't. Because him walking through that door, signing the papers, watching herself sign as well; it was all too surreal to consider. So she didn't.

Kit disrupted her puzzlement as she sauntered by her feet, purring against her legs in recognition. It had been a long time since she'd last been with her mistress and both were content to be in each other's company again. Sora wagered a small smile for that reason only and took her cat in her arms before plopping down on the couch.

As much as she'd dreaded exactly this – this limbo of divorcing – she couldn't deny that a slight amount of weight had fallen off her shoulders; something that allowed her to take one step further away from feeling useless and stuck.

Perhaps it was even progress.

But just in case it wasn't: "Have I told you about Happy Island yet, Kitty Cat? You're in it, you know."

_*end flashback*_

"Lunch, Sora! Come on, maybe they won't be out of turkey sandwiches this time if we _hurry_ a little."

"All right, all right, I'm coming. Jeez, where's the fire?"

Yolei's eyes glinted with mischief.

"And no, I'm not telling you about the note. How old are we, sixteen?"

"But aww! As your friend and colleague, I claim the right to know what it is that's got you blushing at mere words!" They had arrived at the building's cafeteria and joined the line to procure food. Yolei pouted for all it was worth. "I was the one who brought it to you, remember? You owe me."

Sora seriously wondered about the mental age of her friend sometimes.

"Please, Sora? Please, please, please?" A lot of blinking was involved there as well.

Ah, well. "It was from the guy who ran into me the other day and almost made me arrive late on my first day. He wants to go for a coffee this afternoon for some reason," Sora acceded.

"That's great! And hey, for some reason? He's totally into you; I'm sure of it. Are you planning on showing up?"

"I don't know. Probably not though, because I have laundry to do and I left my dishes yesterday so I don't really have the time. Oh and after that, I have a date with my cat – we're watching Grease." She placed the last turkey sandwich on her tray in grateful silence.

"Seriously?" Yolei didn't even care she took the last one.

"What? There's nothing wrong with cleaning. Or cat dates," she defended.

"I think it'll be good for you – a date with a guy. It'll get you out of the house for a change. Besides, what could go wrong with a cup of coffee?" She took a ham sandwich with a sour face.

What could go _wrong_? _Many things_ could go wrong. _Everything_ could go wrong! Why did Yolei fail to see the severity of all the things that could possibly go _wrong_?

"Just try it. Maybe you'll be surprised."

Then again, maybe there was some truth in there. Maybe she should move on; find closure and start something new.

Matt had.

And technically, so had she.

"I'll go then," she agreed in a flash of impulse and with a sense of surreality. "It can't hurt to try, right?"

"Exactly," Yolei beamed. "Glad you see it my way! Now let's switch sandwiches; I'm sure you'll like the ham better."

"No way. I tried the ham here the first day: it's disgusting. But hey, why don't _you_ just give the poor ham a chance? Who knows, perhaps it's the best thing you've ever tasted?" At which she received a grumbling slur of words and a well-deserved punch in the arm.

As her laughter at her friend's antics wore off, she thought of 4PM, coffee and Clumsy Guy, wondering what on earth she had gotten herself into.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Well. Isn't this awkward. Let's just forget about my huge absenteeism, m'kay? It's not even worth mentioning really.

Oh and I put in Davis and Yolei just because I like them. They don't have a real role in this story, but I thought it would be nice to let them play cameo (or recurring cameo, I haven't figured that out yet) instead of coming up with OCs. (Well, originally, they were Dave and Melanie, which was basically my subconscious telling me to use Davis and Yolei, duh.) And let's just pretend 02 never happened here either, okay? Because I have artistic licence and I'm using it because I can. I'm so hardcore.


End file.
